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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30075945">you'll know what power is when i am done</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/kivancalcite/pseuds/kivancalcite'>kivancalcite</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>how to dream in black and white [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Adventures of Tintin (2011)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Animal Abuse, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Breaking and Entering, Canon Rewrite, During Canon, Guns, Head Injury, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kidnapping, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Touching, Pederasty, Possessive Behavior, Prequel, Rape/Non-con Elements, Restraints, Unconsciousness, and tintin is a poor dude in distress as usual too, i may have reworked a couple of elements but it was to make sense for the story, sakharine is an incredibly impatient man and gets what he wants when he wants, sakharine's clearly a lot more interested in tintin besides the scrolls, snowy is a poor dog in distress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 19:28:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,308</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30075945</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/kivancalcite/pseuds/kivancalcite</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Reworked some of the elements nearer the beginning of the film, Tintin is kidnapped earlier than usual after Snowy becomes agitated in the night and noises are heard outside his door. Sakharine is even more impatient for multiple reasons, not least of all the scrolls, and decides to send his usual men to drag him to his ship (and try not to kill him in the process). Possibly a short fic with a smaller number of chapters as a prequel to my other work to offer more depth into how it all started and the developing mindsets of the characters in the process. Fic title taken from the song 'Playing with the Big Boys Now' from the Prince of Egypt film, albeit slightly altered to represent more of the fancy antagonist's overarching presence during it.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ivan Ivanovitch Sakharine/Tintin, Milou | Snowy &amp; Tintin, only for narrative purposes this is clearly possessive and one-sided</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>how to dream in black and white [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2143344</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>you'll know what power is when i am done</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Despite everything that had happened, and what Tintin had been feeling – annoyance, uneasiness with his usual racing thoughts – especially around the sleek, aristocratic Sakharine who was playing nice despite his clear attempt to intimidate him, he found it almost easy to fall asleep around the time he usually went to bed. It was enough trying to piece together the events that had escalated up until outright murder at his door, which shouldn’t be so normal, especially for someone like him.</p><p>Still, he kept his pistol on his bedside table, always the prepared one knowing him. He’d shut the curtains, a sliver of moonlight spilling through nonetheless into the dark shadowiness of his room. Few things could be seen, such as the side of bookshelves that the light glanced off of, but it wasn’t too much to be worried about. He’d had enough to deal with for one day, one night, but maybe sleep would help the cogs in his head run better by the morning.</p><p>He’d moved to the bed, saw the pistol still lying on his bedside table. His lamp was dimly glowing next to it, but the silhouette of the weapon was enough to reassure him it was there, as well as the small figure of Snowy, indenting the pillow with his sleeping miniature frame. Tintin sat next to him, hoping to start getting into his pyjamas so he could sleep.</p><p>He ran a hand across the little dog’s head and across his back. Snowy lifted his head up, ears protruding upwards, and looked at him, then what appeared to be through him.</p><p>“What is it Snowy?” he asked, calmly, gently brushing a hand against his dog’s fur, “It’s just me---”</p><p>He froze. He’d known for ages that dogs could sense a lot more than people on a much lower level, and the bristling of his fur underneath Tintin’s hand spoke a tremendous amount for what he was feeling. There was a vibrating, low growling sensation under his skin as his dog refused to stop looking past him. This was normally at nothing, at a cat, or birds, or anything that usually irritated him, but in the shadows at night having come from a series of risky, escalating events, he knew that something sinister was happening. He’d learnt to be alert from several previous adventures, but had a sense of preparedness when he went to sleep at night, so he was used to this. Frankly, it probably made him a lot more frustrated than scared at any such occurrence.</p><p>He turned to his right; his mouth dry. He took his hand off of Snowy, who had now jumped off the pillow and trotted quickly to the end of the bed and clearly still growling, and onto the pistol, picking it up as he stared at the curtains, the window and the moonlight that spilt out. He kept his ears out, motioning to stroke his dog to quiet him down. He appeared rigid, focused and very much distressed, before he leapt off the bed, barking and running around in circles, paws thudding on the wooden floor in the process.</p><p>“Snowy, what is it??” he asked, slightly more distressed and now angry this time, angry and impatient, he could barely hear a thing, “What on earth is wrong??”</p><p>The little white dog stopped, perking his ears up and now running to his bedroom door. Nothing appeared to be amiss, he thought, except dogs don’t usually make this kind of noise unless something <em>really</em> was.</p><p>“What is it---”</p><p>He was now stood up, watching his dog scrabbling on his hind legs on the door and whimpering, until he heard a knocking, or more so, <em>thudding</em> sound outside. His entire body froze, clutching the pistol at his side, finger hovering over the trigger. He took a step forward, reaching a hand out for the door handle.</p><p>Another <em>thud</em>.</p><p>The sounds clearly came up from an adult, nearby. How on earth would they have managed to get in---</p><p>The door. The front door had been blown to shreds by a barrage of bullets mere hours before. Mrs Finch said she’d get the door replaced in the next couple of days, but it was unpredictable what could happen next, especially from being repeatedly accosted, his ship stolen and a murder on his apartment’s doorstep. He’d been assured of a secure presence in the meantime, but Tintin had time to wonder now what had happened to it.</p><p>The thuds continued, louder and closer to his own apartment door. He held the gun tighter in his hand, the other hand on the door handle as he pulled it down and towards him. Snowy was making a series of high-pitched whines now, running around and through the now open door and sped towards his front door, barking loudly in response. His living room appeared shadowy, moonlight filtering around the edges of the curtains and glancing on some of the damage done by the break in earlier, and eerily quiet as the sounds stopped right outside.</p><p>Tintin moved forward, not letting his eyes off the faint outline of his front door. The light switches for the living room were on the far side of the wall, where the only sound was Snowy barking angrily at the door at which the noises had stopped.</p><p>He moved towards his nearby desk, hearing the sounds of his own breathing as he stepped around scattered books and paraphernalia, or attempted to in the very little light in the room. At least he could have a fair bit of light in the room whilst putting distance between him and the door.</p><p>When he hit the switch on his lamp, it lit up a remarkable portion of his side of the room with warm golden light, whilst other things remained in shadow. He turned it around to face the door, silhouetting Snowy’s barking figure. It wasn’t a lot, but this room was generally smaller than what he at first expected and it was a decent amount to see what was going on.</p><p>Tintin wondered what was happening and taking so long behind the door. He approached the door, and at that moment Snowy stopped barking. The footsteps disappeared up another flight of stairs, and the reporter wished that filled him with a sense of relief if he hadn’t already dealt with incredibly suspicious criminal activity.</p><p>Snowy turned to face him, now staring past him, a whimpering sound now escaping his mouth. What was going on now----?</p><p>The reporter spun around, the sound of a creaking floorboard behind him and heavy breathing making him jump. He’d make a judge of this character in front of him, but only managed to understand the level of height he had on him before a fist suddenly connected with the side of his head, letting out a sharp cry as he dropped his pistol that clattered to the floor, followed by him collapsed almost instantly afterwards.</p><p>Usually this would fully knock him unconscious, he somehow managed to remain on the tail end of it, holding onto it for dear life as the wet sensation of blood on his bruised temple was made abundantly clear to him. He heard the scampering of Snowy nearby, eyes seeing double as he could only groan, being only able to stare at the heavy boots of his attacker in front of him.</p><p>Snowy was only barely able to leap upon the attacker’s legs, beginning to shred through his trousers as the latter let out a deep shout of annoyance and pain before kicking him off and then eventually kicking him a considerable distance away. Tintin tried to shift forward with his arms, making a choked cry as his dog was shoved away from him and made for the gun, only to receive a heavy boot to the hand at which he could let out a quiet screech of pain under his own breathing that he was all too aware of.</p><p>“Seems like you’ve been causing a certain amount of bloody trouble for a certain man, haven’t you? You little brat.”</p><p>There was a snide comment, in that same deep voice, and even in his barely conscious state, he could tell who had sent a person or two in his direction. It was already believably suspect to begin with, but in this moment knowing why this was happening to him made it all too frustratingly obvious with who he would wake up to see and who would relish that moment.</p><p>Sakharine had evidently been stalking him the moment the reporter had strolled away from the man with the ship in his arms, knowing he’d get his way sooner or later. Better sooner it seemed, impatiently letting his guard dogs loose on him the moment he could get him alone. He was used to characters like him doing this, but it was never an event he would ever pleasantly get used whenever it happened.</p><p>There was another voice in the room, and it sounded annoyed. Another set of heavy boots crossed the room in their direction.</p><p>“Tom, you blistering idiot, the boss didn’t say try to kill the boy! How else is he gonna talk to him??”</p><p>The other man very much did not have an indoor voice, even his whispers sounding suspiciously loud. Nonetheless, the words were very much confirmation at Tintin’s suspicions. Being wanted by his enemies seemed only a gift he could receive according to them, he guessed, rather than dead, and the reporter could only simply wonder at what would happen next.</p><p>His shifts of movement and groans of pain only made them more alert to the fact that he was still conscious, and there was a sudden grip on his collar before he was dragged to his feet by two hands on his collar from behind him, and he limply kicked out in his attempt to struggle. Despite his double vision and dizziness from the previous blow to the head, his face felt twisted in a weak expression of concentration and anger, before his eyes widened at the quick inhalation at the distinct disinfectant like smell of fabric trapped across his mouth and nose. History repeated itself as his body was rendered unable to kick back out and drowsiness settled heavily on his eyelids until everything finally went dark.</p><p>----</p><p>Sakharine had kept his eye on the young ginger haired boy ever since he rejected his offer for the ship at the marketplace. Of course, he’d had other ideas when he had seen him, but keeping those to himself seemed all in his own character. He had other things to consider which concerned him, and this first impression with him was not going to start right out in the middle of broad daylight.</p><p>Of course, even when the boy had the nerve to break into Marlinspike Hall in the middle of the night, he wasn’t going to do it then either. He wanted to give him a chance to back out right now, but he seemed determined and Sakharine felt It was extremely clear to him that the ginger brat had decided to fully engage with this new mystery at hand with a continued lack of hesitation.</p><p>Finding out he was an intrepid reporter was the real final nail in the coffin of his decision, even if he could admire the audacity and bravery of such a young boy to commit himself to such deeds of recklessness. He appeared far too used to it, and now Sakharine wanted to waste no time in dragging that annoying brat of a reporter to his ship, to his own floor where he had all the control to stop this in its tracks before it could go any further.</p><p>He’d hoped the men he’d hired would do a generally good job of things, even if he was ambivalent about it. He usually was. They’d probably make a whole mess of it, he guessed, but as long as he got what he wanted, he’d be…well, happy, about it. It wasn’t a word he liked to describe himself as, even when he was. Happy seemed crude and trivial, among other things. He’d be somewhat satisfied, although he made it abundantly clear at how angry he’d be if they’d ended up killing him instead.</p><p>Of course, he wouldn’t say the exact reasons why. The crew would only go so far to assume that it was for the scrolls. He was too sophisticated to let everyone be privy to his knowledge. Underhanded tactics were the prime way of rising in the wealthy criminal world, learning enough from his parents to be more or less an expert in that area. Keeping secrets was part of the business as well as who he was as a higher class of person.</p><p>It’s not like he cared though, but it would annoy him to have them involved in his business even if it was behind closed doors. He had enough power to throw them off the ship, whether into the water or out of the life they’d known most of their lives. Like with the boy reporter, people sticking their nose into things where they didn’t belong was possibly the thing that he really got the most enraged at, and by his crew’s reaction to whenever he spoke to them, that seemed very much obvious what he could do if they disagreed with him.</p><p>So, seeing the boy, still unconscious and yet still somehow appearing angelic in the process, brought to him with a bleeding temple and bruised skin that fell across his left eyelid and swollen it to a point besides, he could only stare hard at the injuries caused before casting his eyes with a mixture of disappointment, anger and disgust over his eyeglasses at the sheepish looks at two of the crew, Allan and Tom, next to him.</p>
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